


Still Reckless

by inkwells_writing



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, M/M, there is violence but its not too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwells_writing/pseuds/inkwells_writing
Summary: Arthur can’t help but be reckless. He has magic, he wants to use it. So what if it puts himself in danger, he had a kingdom and a husband to protect.[its a sequel to Reckless, the sixth chapter in my short drabble collection, but it's not really required to understand this]





	Still Reckless

Well, this certainly was not going to be on Arthur’s top ten list of good days. Hell, it was probably landing real close to the number one slot of “Worst Day Ever.”

He’s been having a lot of those lately, but it is to be expected. With all the war that was going on. 

All the fighting was draining, and it was even more draining to keep one eye out for his reckless king who would charge ahead with the intent to protect Arthur. Honestly, it was like that boy didn’t understand that Arthur could protect himself. Besides, Arthur needed to protect Alfred, and he needed to protect Spades.

Arthur had magic, he had a few knives strapped to himself, and he had a bow with numerous arrows. He would be fine in any fight. Even if he over-extended his magical capabilities, he would be fine.

He always ended up fine.

Okay, sure, maybe that was mostly because Alfred would carry him off the field, unconscious, injured, and drained, but he was always  _ fine.  _

But this time sure didn’t feel that way. 

He was out of arrows, down to one knife (the others he had thrown rather spectacularly into the slit in the enemies helmets), and he could feel the pull of exhaustion dragging him down. His magic was running out, the fields were harvested, the pantry needed restocking, the well was emptying. 

Arthur grit his teeth as he felt his fire spell erupt too close to the palm of his hand- he wouldn’t be able to use that hand for a while. He had too keep fighting, though. He couldn’t let himself fall prey to his exhaustion. He’d promised Alfred he wouldn’t overextend himself, so instead of allowing himself to collapse, he would have to push past it. 

Speaking of Alfred, he had lost sight of his husband. 

He had lost sight of any friendly soldier, and the enemies definitely had not lost sight of him. 

He was surrounded, normally not an issue, but he wasn’t sure if he could muster up one of his more powerful spells.

Yes, this day was shaping up to be rather horrible.

As the enemy soldiers began to get closer, Arthur could only try and keep them back through flashy fire and lighting spells. Luckily, the enemy was rather inept in magical ways. They couldn’t tell a damaging spell from a performance one, even this close up. 

Arthur hissed as one of the lighting spells fizzled out, not even getting close the the encircling men. Clutching his dagger tighter in his good hand, Arthur called out, “It is not wise of you all to get any closer.”

One soldier, face hidden by his red helmet, called out, “Oh? You’re magic seems to be getting weaker, I think we will be fine.”

Arthur cursed. The man was right, but that didn’t stop him from pulling up all the magic he had deep from his bones. Channeling, calling to his reserves for any drop of power left in them. One more spell, then he just had to find his troops. One more spell, and he wouldn’t allow himself to collapse. 

Two soldiers ran at him and he swirled, slashing his knife up the arm of the first one, then bringing it back down through a notch in the other’s armor, before kicking the first away. 

He called to his magic again, praying to the sort that it would answer swiftly. 

Another few men approached, and he slashed at them as well, dropping to the ground for a second to grab the sword of one of the fallen. 

He gasped as he felt his charred skin rub against the hilt and switched his sword and dagger from one hand to the other. 

Looking to the sky, Arthur pushed his magic upwards, towards the clouds that had began to accumulate. He wasn’t even finished channeling, but more soldiers had began to close in on him. He sent the spell out unfinished, a dangerous move for any spell, but for the difficulty of the one he was calling for now, it was a very stupid idea. 

But the spell had a large range, and was very, very noticable. 

Lighting was his speciality, and Alfred would be sure to find him after the spell was fully cast. 

The soldiers around him, even though they were utterly inept at magic, could feel the power pushing upwards. A few stepped back as if to run, but it was too late. Arthur pushed enough magic into the clouds to force the rain to fall. It began to pelt everyone, cascading downwards as a warning for what was about to strike.

And strike it did. Lighting struck the ground, traveling through soldier to soldier. Killing and knocking person after person unconscious. 

Arthur pushed more magic upwards, before cutting it off. A roar of thunder halted unnaturally. A lightning strike never reached the ground. He stopped with just enough magic left in him to keep him upright, but it wasn’t enough to keep himself from holding onto his weapons. Only a few enemies were left around him, and Arthur tried to find it in him to curse at how he left some alive, but he couldn’t. He knew there was no way he could have gotten them all. He didn’t have enough magic left. 

He wish he had enough magical reserves to keep the remaining soldiers from charging him, though. But he didn’t, and he really couldn’t find it in himself to resist as they all raised their swords to strike. 

The swords never fell upon him. 

Their bodies, however, did collapse. Arthur blinked up wearily,  _ when did he look down,  _ seeing his husband there, somehow managing to look both concerned and furious at once. 

Arthur wasn’t able to protest as his husband scooped him up and began to walk away from the rest of the soldiers. He stepped easily around the fallen soldiers, whose bodies were a source of morbid pride for Arthur. 

He was becoming a rather powerful magician. 

As they approached the land their soldiers had control of, Arthur finally allowed himself to struggle in Alfred’s arms. 

“Let me down, love, I can walk.”

“No you can’t. You could barely stay standing after that spell.” Alfred hissed, “Which I don’t even know why you cast. I was almost by your side. You could have waited and saved your strength.”

“They were very close to me, and I didn’t know where you were. Now let me down.”

“No.” 

Arthur glared at his husband, “We are not doing this now. Let me down before I use the rest of my magic to get myself out of your arms.Then you’ll have to carry my unconscious body back to camp anyways.”

Arthur only had Alfred’s glare to warn him before the arms that were previously curled around his body flopped down to Alfred’s sides. He hit the ground, just barely able to land on his hands and knees. 

He grunted and stood, feeling a burn in his hand as the charred skin protested hitting the ground that hard. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Alfred didn’t deign him with an answer, he just began to walks towards camp, weaving through the oncoming Spade’s soldiers with ease. A few hesitated by Arthur, who quickly waved them on.

Arthur followed Alfred from a distance, but he never got too far behind his king, as the man walked at a slow pace, unlike his normal speedy one. Arthur could only assume that despite his apparent anger, his husband was concerned and wanted to keep him close. 

They made it back to camp, Alfred leading the way to their tent. As they approached the entrance, a general approached them with news that the battle was almost over. A quick conversation between Alfred and the man proceed, before the man ran off to prepare the camp for the return of the soldiers. 

Alfred moved the flap in their tent aside, stepping away so Arthur could enter first. He moved inside quickly, walking over to the small box that contained the medical supplies. Grabbing bandages and a cream for his burnt hand, Arthur sat on their shared cot and set about cleaning his hand. 

Alfred must have noticed the difficulty he was having cleaning his wound with one hand, as he kneeled beside his queen and brushed Arthur’s hand away to dress the wound himself. 

Arthur felt the building tension in the room, but he didn’t want to speak. He was so, so tired. And he was almost ashamed. 

He felt a burning feeling in the back of his throat. He  _ knew _ it was guilt. As much as he had tried to justify his impulsive actions on the battlefield, he knew he had broken his promise to Alfred. He had pushed himself too far. Even if he didn’t fall unconscious, he had still charged farther and farther into enemy lines, trying to end the battle quickly. He had dried up his magic reserves and gotten injured. He was stupid, selfish, and-

“Bloody hell that stings!” He yelled at Alfred as he pulled away. 

Alfred grunted and yanked him back, bringing the salve back to a cut on his leg. Arthur didn’t even remember getting the injury. 

Arthur sat in silence, stewing in the thoughts as Alfred finished patching him up. When he finished, Arthur pulled away, scooting to the edge of the cot as Alfred sat down near the top of it. 

Suddenly, the walls of the tent were very interesting. Such a nice, beige color. 

He heard Alfred take a deep breath, and Arthur tensed, ready for Alfreds (justified) anger, when the man just sighed. Arthur shifted to see the man in his peripherals, and he had his head in his hands. 

Arthur barely even registered the shaking of Alfreds shoulders before he was by his side, resting his hands (one bandaged, one uninjured) on his husbands shoulders. He whispered, his hushed voice trying to calm his crying husband, “Alfred, Alfred, what’s wrong, I’m sorry, what’s wrong.” 

Alfred’s gasping breath was his only answer, and he flinched as he heard Alfred choke back a sob. “Alfred, please love, tell me what’s wrong. I’m sorry.”

Arthur didn’t know what to do. He expected anger. He knew how to deal with anger. He was used to people being angry with him, disappointed with him.

Sadness, tears, crying. All of these were uncharted territory. He was lost. 

So he just sat next to his husband, apologizing for whatever he did (breaking his promise? Getting hurt? He had no idea. He was still new to relationship where the other person actually… cared for him. He didn’t know what to do.) and trying to calm his husband down.

Eventually, the tears stopped flowing, the choking sobbs calmed, and Alfred’s shuddering breaths evened out. When Alfred had himself under control, he looked up at Arthur, eyes rimmed red. “Stop apologizing.”

Arthur looked away quickly, mumbling a “sorry” before he even realized it. He flinched, opened his mouth to apologize for apologizing again, before changing his mind and asking, “Why were you- no, what did I- how come-” He sighed, trying to frame his question. Alfred waited patiently, and Arthur swallowed, “What’s wrong?” Simple and easy. 

Alfred’s gaze dropped to the floor as he composed himself. “Can I ask you something Arthur?” 

Arthur nodded, he wanted to do whatever he could to help his husband.

“Do you care about yourself?

Arthur flinched and jolted backwards. His hands started shaking as his mind began to race.  _ What did that even mean? What was he asking him? _

Alfred looked up at him as he continued, “You never seem to care about your own well being. You throw yourself into enemy territory and use up all your magic to stop as many enemy soldiers as you can before you collapse. You  _ promised me _ you’d be more careful, that you wouldn’t let yourself collapse in the middle of battle again, and I thought you’d play it a little more safe. That you’d stay close to the soldiers, so you could just cast long range spells until you needed to use your bow. But instead you run into battle, trying to follow me, why- I’ll never know- and end up surrounded. And instead of casting one of your transportation spells, which I know you have because I’ve seen you use them, you cast a gigantically powerful spell that you know I’ll see. But of course, you save just enough energy to stay standing, even if that means you can’t fight off the surviving soldiers. It’s just- do you care about your own safety? Why do you push yourself so hard? Why do you let yourself get so injured? I’m just- I’m so worried about you, Arthur.” Alfred had grabbed onto Arthur’s hands in the middle of his speech, rubbing his thumb against his palm, a comforting gesture. 

But not comforting enough, because Arthur couldn’t breath. Alfred was so, so concerned about his safety. He wanted to make sure Arthur was safe. But Arthur was the Queen of Spades. It was his duty to protect the king, to make sure Alfred was safe. He was gifted with magic to protect his husband, and if he couldn’t do that, if he couldn’t protect their kingdom, what kind of a queen was he?

But Alfred was looking at him, tears streaks still fresh on his face. Tears that were shed over worry for his safety. 

“I just-” Arthur began, before he choked on his breath. “I don’t- It’s my duty to make sure you’re safe, I can’t, I was gifted this magic- but- I don’t-”

Arthur began to panic. Why was it so easy to form thoughts in his head, but so difficult to share them with Alfred? 

Alfred seemed to understand Arthur’s panic, as he just frowned and pulled Arthur close to him for a hug. “I love you, Arthur. I don’t like seeing you hurt. Sure, the Queen is supposed to protect the King, but you can’t do that if you’re dead. And it’s also my duty to protect you. I just want to make sure your safe. I don’t like seeing you fall unconscious in the middle of a battle. It hurts to see how little you care for your own wellbeing.” 

Arthur clenched his eyes shut and tucked his head into the curve of Alfred’s neck. He didn’t speak, afraid that if he tried to again he would start to cry. 

Alfred rubbed his back and spoke quietly, murmering soft words of love and concern to Arthur. They stayed like that for a while. Arthur didn’t pull away, and Alfred didn’t ask him too.

They both knew they would need to talk it out. They both needed rest, to heal. They would need to work through this, Arthur would need to tell Alfred why he was so self-destructive, and Alfred would need to be patient with the process. 

But that was for later. For now, they could be content with the floodgates that had been opened. They could deal with the aftermath in time. 

Yes, that was a concern for another time. Now, they could just rest, and cry. They had to do so now, as there were battles to fight soon.

They needed to be strong enough to protect each other then. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! kudos are appreciated and comments fuel me!! :D send requests at my tumblr @inkwells-writing


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